


He Was Our Kid

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: SPN Hiatus Creations 2020 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Death, Favorite quote, Fluff, Gen, Gore, Humor, Love, SPN Hiatus Creations 2020, Season/Series 15, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Violence, Week 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24373099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: With Jack gone and Belphegor in his place, Team Free Will grieve in different ways.
Series: SPN Hiatus Creations 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750201
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	He Was Our Kid

**Author's Note:**

> Written for week 2 of SPN Hiatus Creations on tumblr. **Prompt: Favorite Quote**
> 
> _"He was our kid." -- Dean Winchester, 15x01 "Back and to the Future"_

Castiel couldn’t look at that  _ thing _ that was… that was inside—

No, he couldn’t even think it.

It talked with his voice, but it spoke differently. It moved differently. Castiel didn’t even want to call it Belphegor. It was garbage, waste, ruin. No better than whatever festering rot graced the bottom of his Father’s shoes. His lying, traitorous, monster of a Father. They were nothing more than mud to be scraped away.

But that thing in—in…

It was the lowest of the low.

It was  _ violating _ everything that he loved, and doing it all with a smile. If that face wasn’t so familiar, he’d want to punch it, knock its teeth down its throat.

But it was familiar.

It was everything to him.

Even now with the way it was ruined.

At least the sunglasses hid most of the damage.

Castiel’s stomach was burning, boiling, and his insides were hot and cold and tingly.

This was wrong, wrong,  _ wrong _ .

“ _ He was our kid. _ ”

_ “Jack, what are you doing?” Castiel asked. His son was in the kitchen, doing… he wasn’t sure. The kid had once claimed he’d seen Dean make a “spaghetti taco,” so he wasn’t sure their kid knew exactly how food worked. He was putting bread on top of… bread. _

_ “Oh, I’m making a sandwich,” he responded, like it was the most simple, obvious thing in the world. _

_ Castiel entered the kitchen, a bemused smile on his face. He went over to Jack’s creation, and took the top of the bread off, then going to the fridge and grabbing meat and cheese and mustard. Ooh, there were even some pickles lying around! _

_ “Typically,” Castiel began as he dragged the plate over to him and got to work, “a sandwich has other food between the bread.” _

_ Jack shrugged, smiling. “Yeah, but I like bread.” _

_ “Didn’t Dean show you how to make a sandwich?” _

_ His son shook his head. “No, he just makes them for me. Actually, he makes everything for me.” _

_ “Well, I’m making this for you.” _

_ “Cas, it’s just food.” _

_ “And you’re a growing boy.” Jack gave him a confused look, so Castiel added, “Mentally. Sort of. I know you gave yourself an eighteen-year-old’s body, but you still have to nourish it. _

_ “Now you sound like Sam.” _

_ “Good.” _

_ Castiel finished up, and passed the sandwich over to Jack. There was delight on the kid’s face as he ate it. _

_ “This is good!” he commented. _

_ Cas took a seat across from him at the table. _

_ “Jack, if you ever need anything, from  _ any of us _ , don’t hesitate to ask. We’re here for you. It’s what your mom would’ve wanted.” _

_ Jack put his food down. “I miss her.” _

_ “I miss her too.” _

_ “But…” Jack gave him a look that was hopeful, while grieving; loving, while pained; accepting, while angry. “I have you,” he finished. _

_ And Castiel had Jack too. _

“ _ He was our kid. _ ”

Dean didn’t feel anything as he looked at Belphegor. Nothing. Nothing at all. That’s what he’d trained himself into feeling. He’d taken every last painful emotion that wanted to worm its way into his goddamned brain, and he buried it under the now, under their survival, and their priorities for saving the world… yet again.

It wasn’t there.

It couldn’t be there.

Not with the way Belphegor smiled, or the way he swaggered around, the way he could so easily hold a still-bleeding heart in his hand.

That wasn’t his son.

And the body, that wasn’t his son’s body anymore.

Jack was gone.

Dean had to keep him that way in his head, to not think of all the ways he’d loved him, or else he’d lose it.

“ _ He was our kid. _ ”

_ Dean felt a comforting warmth that he’d really only felt while raising Sammy, as he took Jack’s hand, and showed him how to hold the knife. _

_ “See, you hold it like this. Keep your wrist loose, grip comfortable, not too tight.” _

_ Dean brought his hand away to let Jack try on his own, and to inspect how he was doing. The kid was a fast learner. _

_ “Now what?” Jack asked. _

_ Dean would teach him some moves later, but he wanted Jack to get the feel of its weight first, so he told him, “Now you swing it.” _

_ And he should’ve stepped back for this part. _

_ Because Jack started swinging, and he almost accidently sliced right into Dean’s chest. Dean did jump back now, and brought his arm up to block any potential incoming blows. _

_ Jack winced, realizing his mistake, knife lowering from his hand. Despite the evident worry in him, Dean felt pride that Jack hadn’t dropped the weapon. In a fight, a weapon could be your lifeblood. It could be the only thing keeping you from death. And he and Sam had been trained that you didn’t drop your weapon when you were afraid. You held on tighter and brought it in close to protect yourself. _

_ “Sorry,” Jack apologized. _

_ Dean joked, “What, already trying to kill your old man?” Jack opened his mouth to say something, but Dean began, “Come on, arms up.” _

_ Jack awkwardly held his arms up, and Dean stifled an affectionate laugh. _

_ “Okay, okay. Like this.” _

_ He repositioned Jack so that his feet were shoulder-width apart, and he was crouched down just a bit as if sitting on a high stool. With his shoulders back, left arm up by his chest, ready to protect and counterbalance the weight of his swings, and right arm angled outwards, he was now in the correct stance. _

_ Dean pat him on the elbow, but made sure to not put to much force so he wouldn’t jostle him and mess up the stance. _

_ “Alright, kid, there you go.” _

_ “Now…” Dean directed him on slashing. That was your best bet in a fight with a knife. The stabbing came from closer quarters, when things got desperate and ugly. And Dean never wanted a fight to get ugly with Jack. Ever. And he was just starting out, so Dean didn’t teach him those things yet. _

_ He just wanted his son to know how to protect himself, to know how to stay alive. _

_ Dean’s heart hurt knowing that he wouldn’t always be there for him, knowing that something could get them separated, hurt him, or try using him to get to Jack. _

_ Love could be a liability. _

_ But Jack was part of his family now. _

_ And a Winchester needed to know how to survive. _

“ _ He was our kid. _ ”

Sam got as far away from Belphegor as possible, jumping right into the guise of an FBI agent, getting people out of the town, keeping them safe.

He hadn’t been able to keep Jack safe.

He’d failed.

He’d failed so badly, and had done so even before God had… Before he’d…

Yeah, Sam’s head didn’t want to go there. It couldn’t.

Get people out of the town. Get them safe.

His shoulder ached as he did his work, as he pointedly ignored what was in his son. As he ignored all of it.

Dean had been in that graveyard with a gun to Jack’s head.

God had wanted his son… gone, stripped away from them.

Sam had locked his son in the Ma’Lak box, betraying him, hurting him; that one action telling him he didn’t matter.

But, god, he did matter. He mattered so much. So much so that Sam wanted to rip himself apart for not being able to save him, to—to properly be his father.

His shoulder ached.

“ _ He was our kid. _ ”

_ Someone was opening Sam’s bedroom door, and quickly and quietly, he reached for the gun under his pillow before the dim light from the hallway could stream down on him. _

_ But then Sam recognized the sound of the movements, the footsteps. _

_ He released his grip on the weapon, and sat up, turning on his lamp. _

_ “Jack?” _

_ His son stood in the doorway, dark shadows under reddened blue eyes. _

_ “Hey, what’s going on?” Sam asked. _

_ “I had a nightmare.” _

_ At that realization, Sam was surprised he hadn’t heard it, what with Jack being right next door. _

_ “You okay?” Sam asked. _

_ Jack didn’t answer, and just questioned, “Can _ — _ Can I come in?” _

_ “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” _

_ Sam made room on his bed, and ran a hand through his hair, trying to straighten it. It decided to still be a mess, so he let it go. A yawn cracked his jaw, and he was rubbing sleep out of his eyes, as Jack came over to sit on the end of the bed. _

_ “You want to talk about it?” Sam asked. _

_ “I don’t really remember it.” _

_ “But it hurts,” Sam stated, knowing how nightmares worked all too well. _

_ Jack just nodded. _

_ “Hey, it’s okay to have nightmares, you know,” Sam said. “They’re scary, or _ — _ or painful, or sad, but it’s the brain trying to figure this stuff out. It’s our minds trying to look out for us.” _

_ “It doesn’t feel like it.” _

_ Sam gave him a knowing look. “Believe me, I get it. Trauma, grief  _ — _ the stuff we go through, it’s hard to process. So even when we’re not thinking about it, in the back of our heads, there’s attempts at healing going on.” _

_ “Will I heal?” Jack asked. _

_ Sam scooted forward, and brought him into a hug, one hand patting the side of his face. _

_ Sam still had PTSD, still had nightmares, and body memories, and flashbacks, and the fear, and the pain. But he could function better than he could years ago, and sometimes he had good days, and sometimes he knew that the gaping wounds had turned into fading scars. _

_ “Yeah, Jack. We’ll both heal.” _

_ And Sam hugged him closer, wishing he could save his son from the nightmares. But protecting him in the real world, caring for him, was the best he had. It was the best any of them had. _

“ _ He was our kid. _ ”


End file.
